Hear You Me
by ElfieWrites
Summary: Accidents happen. (A horrible summary, but saying more would more or less tell you the story!)


Author's note: Another songfic, based off of "Hear You Me" by Jimmy Eat World (some lyrics are in here, and of course they belong to the original writer, not myself, I take no credit for the lyrical inspiration, just the story). A sad one. With no good closure. Whether I write a sequel to end it definitely is uncertain. I have two ideas for how to end it. By the end of the fic I'm sure you'll know the two choices. I suppose I could write two seperate endings ... one happy, one sad. But I don't know. I'll think about it. 

----- 

The fourth-graders didn't know the meaning of devastation until now. Rhonda's stained favorite shirt, Phoebe's first B on a homework assignment, Nadine's squashed butterfly, and the shortage of lemons that hindered Stinky's consumption of pudding last year all paled in the face of what they all had to deal with recently. 

It had been a normal weekend, about three weeks ago, when Arnold had gotten up early to go grocery shopping with his grandpa. Afterwards he had planned to meet up with all the kids at Gerald Field for their usual Saturday game. At first the kids waited for him, but after awhile they grew impatient and started the game without their friend. They figured he could start whenever he showed up. But as the game progressed, and finally ended, Arnold never came. 

Arnold's best friend, Gerald Johanssen, was more worried than most. It was very unlike his friend to ever miss something he had promised to come to, least of all a baseball game. He thought that maybe something in the boarding house Arnold's grandparents owned had broken and they needed their grandson's help to fix it, though. So Gerald decided to visit the boarding house and see what exactly it was that had caused his friend's absence. After all, if anything was broken, maybe he could lend a hand. 

When he reached the boarding house and knocked at the door, a tall blond woman answered the door, wiping her eyes with the back of a hand and sniffling. 

"Uh, hi Mrs. Kakashka. Is everything okay? Did I come at a bad time?" She just shook her head, seemingly unable to speak, so he continued. "I just came to see Arnold, would you tell him I...." He trailed off when she suddenly wailed and burst into tears again. 

"Who is it Suzy?" a gruff voice asked as a short man peeked around a corner into the hallway. His eyes widened as he recognized Gerald and he waddled closer. The top of his head barely reached Gerald's shoulder, and he was stocky, with muscular arms. But one of those large hands reached out gently to pat the tall woman on the leg. "Why don't you go sit down, Suzy?" She nodded and fled around the corner the short man had just come from. He turned back to a confused Gerald. "C'mon kid, you better come in. We've got some bad news." 

----- 

That Monday morning was the most difficult one of Gerald's short life. No, it wasn't just the toughest Monday morning, it simply was the toughest morning ever. He walked with a heavy heart and leaden feet to his class, knowing he was late and not caring. The later he was, the further away he was from seeing that empty desk and having to share his gloomy news. But all too soon the doorknob was turning in his hand and he was walking towards Mr. Simmons. Of course everyone noticed the air behind him unfilled by a small blonde boy. Secondly they noticed his downcast features and aura of gloom. 

"Hey, where's the Football-Head?" Helga snapped, seemingly unconcerned. 

But Gerald only shot her a look that sent her scooting back in her seat, and that was saying a lot about that glance. 

Gerald turned back to Mr. Simmons, who ventured, "Yes Gerald, we are wondering why Arnold isn't here today. Do you know if he's at home sick?" 

"No, Mr. Simmons, he's not at home. I do know where he is. I guess I should just tell you now, and everybody else too; it's important. Arnold ... Arnold's in the hospital. He was in a car crash and right now ... he's in a coma." 

"Hey, that's not a funny joke, Gerald," Harold whined. 

"I'm not kidding!" Gerald snapped, and winced. 

There was classwide gasp, and they all (with the exception of Harold, who still looked a bit confused until Stinky leaned over to explain what a "coma" was) stared at him, the messenger who never wanted to ever bear such horrible news. Mouths hung open or formed silent questions. It surprised everyone that Helga Pataki, of all the class, was the first to cry. She suddenly bolted from the room, tears streaming down her face. Their surprise at her sudden emotion lasted only moments until what Gerald's news really meant sank in. The breaking of Helga prompted all the other girls, and Sid, to burst into tears as well. 

If Mr. Simmons still had any hope of teaching the day's planned lessons, he quickly threw that idea out of his mind's window. Instead, he told the class, "I understand how each of you needs to deal with this tragic news in your own special way, so I want you all to spend today expressing yourselves. I want you to show how you feel creatively. Use any of the art supplies you need, or you can write, or even talk amongst yourselves. Whatever unique way you need to deal with this loss." He turned then to a silently crying Phoebe. "I know Helga might want some time alone to deal with this in her special way, but I would like you to go find her and make sure she's okay." 

Phoebe nodded. She had wanted to ask herself if she could go check on her best friend, but was grateful Mr. Simmons had understood the need without her having to attempt to speak. She first hurried over to Gerald, hugging him tightly before offering him a small, encouraging smile, then ran into the hallway. 

Nearly fifteen minutes passed before Phoebe returned with Helga in tow, no longer crying. As soon as she was seated in her desk again, though, she whipped out a little pink book and began scribbling down poems. The words were coming out faster than she could write them down, and she felt that she could go on like this for two weeks and never get them all out of her head. Phoebe sat beside her, one hand on her friend's arm, but turned to listen to Gerald, on the other side of her. Helga listened too, even as she wrote. 

Gerald told as much as he knew about the accident. It had happened that Saturday morning as Arnold and his grandpa were driving back to the boarding house after completing their errands. Passing a narrow sidestreet, a car had plowed into the right side of the car, where Arnold was sitting. His grandpa got out virtually unscathed, except for aggravation of old back injuries. Arnold, however, suffered a dislocated shoulder and two cracked ribs. But these injuries too seemed minimal when it was took into consideration that his head had slammed into the window to his right, knocking him into an unconsciousness he had yet to wake from. The doctors were still hopeful about that, however. After all, it had been only two days since the accident, and he was likely to wake up any minute. Whether they were optimistic or not, though, Arnolds friends and family worried, as did the woman from the other car. She had been at fault; she had not been paying attention and ran through the single stop sign at that corner. Failing to stop, she never noticed the traffic around the sharp corner until it was too late. She, too, was unhurt except for minor bruises. Gerald had wanted to visit Arnold, but was too young to visit the Intensive Care section of the hospital without being family. He, and even all the other kids, could visit later though, when Arnold was moved to his own room after either waking from his coma or stayed stable enough that the doctors stopped fearing unseen internal bleeding. It was all very grim. 

It was a grim class, too, that got lunch that day. Harold, strangely, picked at his food and only finished a single helping. Stinky made the following resolution: "I ain't gonna eat no more lemon puddin' 'til Arnold is done woke up," as if making a stubborn resolution depriving himself of his favorite food might coax the boy to wake up any sooner. He would hold fast to his word, though. 

The sullen group was quiet all through lunch recess, and afternoon class. Just before the bell rang, Mr. Simmons announced, "Now class, I'm afraid that tomorrow we will have to begin our regular studies again. We will reserve some time if you'd like to continue expressing yourselves, however. I hope tonight you all keep your classmate in your thoughts and keep dealing with this in your own unique way." 

After school Helga ran straight to her room to pour out more of her thoughts into that little pink poetry book. That was how she measured time, that week and the next. Her book filled and she started in a new one, counting time by the pages she filled. Days ran into each other as still there came no news of Arnold waking up. Soon he was moved to his own room, where he could be monitored closely but allowed visitors. All the kids decided to take advantage and see him in small groups. They came and talked to him about what they were learning in school, the latest baseball game in Gerald Field, and how much he was missed in the neighborhood. In fact, it seemed like every member of their community had visited him at least once. Except Helga. She had tried once; she had peeked into his room one day when no one was around and saw him laying there so still. She had wanted so badly to go in there and hold his hand and tell him everything she felt, and was ready to move when she heard the voices of some of the kids around a corner in the hallway. She had snuck away, and hadn't been back since. She kicked herself for that. Phoebe had pressured her to go, too. When asked why she hadn't been there, Helga burst into tears and said simply "I'm so scared..." and Phoebe had just held her until her tears had dried. The girl hadn't pressured her friend since, only called and mentioned to Helga when she planned to be visiting herself, knowing Helga would hear the unspoken invitation to come along. 

Helga simply stuck to her poems. Until the day they suddenly stopped. She felt like all her poetic thoughts had all been used up. She felt like she had only written the tenth part of what she wanted to say, though, in all those inked pages. So one day she decided to read over all that she had produced. She paused at one poem with a couple of lines that leaped out at her. She had written this poem in a fit of bitterness, sure that her love was going to die. 

_A song for a heart so big   
God wouldn't let it live_

She thought that part described Arnold perfectly. He was always so compassionate, helpful, empathetic, caring, kind, full of love. She had always wondered how someone so full of heart could stand before her and not be an angel himself.... 

_May angels lead you in   
May angels lead you in_

Those lines were repeated throughout the poem. She hoped that if he did die, those angels would recognize him as their earthly brother and welcome him with all the love in their golden hearts. He would be where he belonged. 

She was up long into that night, rewriting and revising that bit of work. Suddenly she was no longer a prolific writer, but one intent on writing what she felt would be the most magnificient piece of work she would write in her entire life. 

----- 

It was in the early morning hours that Helga suddenly laughed aloud to herself. It was the first time she had laughed at all in weeks. She had had the thought, "What would Arnold do?" 

She had looked at herself, locked in her room, shut off from humanity these weeks, busily writing. She had looked back on those cold weeks, with all the kids still sullen and hurt. Their world was out of its orbit without that Football-Head for it to spin around. And she had wondered what he would think if he were to see them all. 

"He certainly wouldn't want us to all be moping around like this! No, not my dearest Arnold..." she trailed off into a lovesick sigh. 

He would have wanted to see her going on with her life. He wouldn't want to see the depressed, hiding creature she was now. He would want to see the fiery, strong, and proud Helga. He would want to see the cheerful, talkative Gerald. The gluttonous, noisy Herald. The fashion-concerned and prim Rhonda. The always-cheerful-despite-his-bad-luck Eugene. Stinky eating his beloved lemon pudding at lunch, instead of gazing longingly at it and sighing heavily. But they had all stayed so serious and forlorn these few weeks. It was like some light had gone out of their everyday lives, and they were walking around in a mist of grey. 

Helga pondered over her regrets for those thanks she couldn't give her beloved now. Her thankfulness for the light that he had shown in her life all these years. The light that she now saw had shone on them all. 

She remembered back to how everything somehow centered around Arnold's stoop. That was always the place to go when everyone was bored. They were there to decide to break a world record. They came there for news, gossip, and urban legends. They all met there to plan adventures and mischief. The stoop of any kid in town would have been just as convenient, but somehow it was always Arnold's. She never thought she'd need to thank him for that hospitality, but now she saw there would never be a chance for that. 

She never had a chance to thank him for putting up with her. Over all the years of unkindness she had showed him, he still tried to befriend her. She wanted to thank him for that stubborn persistence. For believing that inside of her was a girl worth knowing, a girl with a heart. For his belief in her, she wanted to thank him. 

She wanted to thank him for giving her something to look forward to every day. He wouldn't know it, but seeing his face was like a refreshing shower after running a marathon, or a cool cup of water after a march across the Sahara with not a drop to drink for days. She wanted to thank him for giving her something to believe in. For giving her someone to admire, both as a crush and as the type of person she wished she could be. 

All of these thoughts she tried to put into her poem. She wanted to express in words that light that she saw. She wanted to describe something so angelic it seemed beyond mortal words. But she fought with those mortal words, to lay them so perfectly that at least a scrap of that delicate wonder could be expressed. 

And when she finally fell asleep, with a faint smile on her face, she had a plan. 

----- 

She didn't doubt her plan until she was standing in front of the door of the boarding house, waiting for the door to open after her knock. If she was going to give in to the urge to run, though, it was too late, for the door was opening. She was looking up into the face of a tall, lanky old man with a jutting chin. She recognized him as Arnold's grandfather, Phil, and his grandmother was just behind the man in the hallway, but she asked anyway. 

"Um, hi. Are you Arnold's grandpa?" 

The old man laughed. "Well, yes, I suppose I know the Short Man. What do you need, little girl?" 

She handed him a paper and then looked down and shifted her weight slowly from one foot to another. "Sir, I don't want you to think of this as rude. See, I wrote this poem for - about - Arnold and ... I don't know if it's appropriate, but I wanted you to see it. I just wanted to write about how special he is and I figured you guys might want to read it. If ... if you don't like it ... well, you won't see me again. I just thought ... I don't know." 

As she was talking, Arnold's grandma had come to read the poem as well, and she gave a gasp. Helga looked up and saw their slightly shocked faces. She took a trembling step backward. "Well, then ... I'll be going, I guess...." 

Before she could turn around completely, though, Phil said, "Wait, little girl. You wrote this?" 

She turned back. "Yeah." 

"How beautiful it is too. This is amazing. What did you say your name was?" 

"Uh, I didn't. But it's Helga." 

"Well, Helga, were you going to go see Arnold today? I know a bunch of his little friends were planning on it this afternoon. But we were just getting ready to go now and would you like to come and read this to the Short Man?" 

"Oh yes, Kimba would like that," Arnold's grandma added. 

Helga was caught between nervousness and delight. Reading one of her own poems to her love? It seemed so romantic. But considering his condition.... His grandparents looked so hopeful though. "Um, sure. I can do that." 

----- 

It was that nervous agreement that had brought her here, sitting in an uncomfortable chair but hardly noticing that part of her surroundings. Her focus was on the peaceful face in front of her. The beautifully curved football-shaped head resting on the pillow, his unruly golden hair spread out on the light blue covering. Tubes and needles were connected to him, which she grimaced at, but she sighed lovingly at the hand under her own. Here, she could touch him so casually for as long as she wanted with no need to act disgusted to keep her hateful bully persona alive. She was alone in the room for Arnold's grandparents had left her alone with him to read her poem. They thought that even in this state he could hear it. She didn't know whether to believe that, but she had just finished the reading and was letting the tears in her eyes dry, enjoying the brief moment alone before she left to let others visit. 

"Hear you me, my friend," she said softly as she squeezed his hand gently. With a sigh she shifted her weight in the seat, but suddenly froze. Maybe it was just the way she shifted, and the way the light fell on his face, but it seemed as though in that moment his mouth had twisted into a slight smile. Not enough to be sure, but she really thought she saw it.... She smiled to herself and said, "Maybe you can," before squeezing his hand one more time and leaving for the day. 


End file.
